


Ashes to Ashes

by ivorydice



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Dreamlike, FFXV Kink Meme, Game Spoilers, Gen, if you haven't finished the game then don't read, up to the reader when this takes place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorydice/pseuds/ivorydice
Summary: Don't go, something said. An inner voice, an outer force, he wasn't sure, but it was as strong as the bells were, screaming at him, trying to push him back for every step forwards that he took.Don't go, you don't want to see. Don't go.I have to see, he told it.I have to.





	Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt here: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3451.html?thread=3180155
> 
> _So Regis knew Noctis would die as the chosen king… lets take that a step further and have him actually see himself killing his own son._
> 
> I already posted this over on the kinkmeme, but I thought I'd share it over on here too (hope that's okay with OP, if not then let me know and I'll take it down).
> 
> I was experimenting with the writing on this one, not sure how good it came out, but I'm kinda pleased with it. Also please kill me, this game will forever tear at my heart and I'll always cry over these two. Best dad and best son <3
> 
> I gave it this title because I couldn't think of anything else and because it's the name of a track I was listening to while writing this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZSpEeg30mo

  
The city was on fire.  
  
The skyscrapers had long burnt out, their frames left behind like rotting bones, metal skeletons against an orange sky. Streets that were once thriving with city lights and human lives were now dark and empty, ash covering the pavements like snow. The fire seemed to be the only source of light, for when Regis turned around to look behind him, all he saw was darkness. A sheer and utter darkness, an unnatural darkness. It seemed to have enveloped the whole world, swallowing it up like a daemon with an insatiable hunger.  
  
And by the sounds coming from within that darkness, he could guess that was very well what had happened.  
  
The daemons had swallowed the world.  
  
Something was calling to him, like bells ringing in his head, drawing him forwards, and he stepped through the ash-snow, ignoring the way it stained his shoes and his clothes, ignoring the little flutters they left as the falling flakes kissed his cheeks.  
  
_Don't go_ , something said. An inner voice, an outer force, he wasn't sure, but it was as strong as the bells were, screaming at him, trying to push him back for every step forwards that he took. _Don't go, you don't want to see. Don't go.  
  
__I have to see_ , he told it. _I have to.  
  
_ And he did. He didn't know what was calling him and he didn't know why, but he _had_ to find out what, he had follow this pull. It would haunt him otherwise, it would drive him insane. So what if his blood ran as cold as ice through his veins, so what if his skin and body shivered uncontrollably, so what if his heart was hammering in his chest.  _He had to know.  
__  
_ The Citadel. The fire was coming from the Citadel, from the main entrance, so bright that he could barely see now. Regis held his hand up to his face, to shield his eyes, and he saw his own skin, pale and grey and rotting. He looked down and his clothes were old and dirty and bloody.  
  
And he wasn’t wearing the ring.  
  
Regis continued forwards, shielding his eyes as he walked through the fire. He expected pain, prepared for it to burn away his clothes and his body, but he felt nothing as he passed through it, and then the world darkened. When he lowered his hands, the fire was gone, and it was raining.  
  
_Don’t go._  
  
He climbed the steps up towards the Citadel, towards his home, _their_ home. How many times had he come up and down these stairs? How many times had he returned home to find his little boy sitting here and waiting for him, with a smile brighter than the sun, eyes sparkling like blue stars, arms outstretched and reaching for him? How many times had he returned home, so tired and weary, eager to shed his duties, eager to sit down and listen to that light, chattery voice that always brought a warmth to his chest? How many times had he walked these steps, with hope in his heart and dread in his veins?  
  
And how many times would he continue to do so? How many times until his _last_ time, until it was his time to leave this world and leave his _son_ , leave him to face this dreaded fate of his?  
  
_Don’t go. Please.  
  
_ The bells in his head were ringing louder and louder, drawing him forwards, and he followed them almost dreamily, letting them carry his feet through the entrance and the hallways, through so many different rooms he had grown up in and watched his boy grow up in. He could almost hear the sound of giggling echoing down the corridor, he could almost picture a little prince running along, lighting the hallways up with his contagious joy, leading him around on a merry chase.  
  
Oh, how he longed for those times now. For the times when that small boy would be running down the hallways, his laughter echoing around them as Regis gave chase, the giggling turning into squealing when he would catch up and wrap his arms around his son, when he would throw him up into the air triumphantly. There would be flailing and yelling and protests, but his boy could never hold back the shrieking laughter whenever Regis would spin him around or blow raspberries against his throat, and what a sight they would make, the King and the Prince, running and playing in the hallways without a care in the world.  
  
They were all destroyed now, these hallways. Abandoned and dusty, long forgotten and discarded. Their true beauty would only live on in memories now, and even those would fade eventually. And then there would be nothing.  
  
The ringing and the screaming had reached a crescendo, and he fought against the push-pull. He let the noises stab at him like knives as he pushed the doors open to the throne room, and as soon as his foot crossed the threshold, they silenced completely.  
  
Blue. The room was awash in a deep blue, rippling against the floor and the walls, as if he was underwater. It felt familiar somehow, and old. It felt like a guardian watching over him, or like a friend, or like family. Or, perhaps, it was each.  
  
Lining the room on either side of him were faint, ghostly figures, so still he wondered if they were statues. They were waiting, he realized, waiting and watching. Up ahead, Regis could see the throne - his throne, _their_ throne - and it was covered in blood. It was the only colour in the room untouched by the blue, and it ran down like a river, slowly crawling along each step, painting it in scarlet, _tainting_ it. Coming towards him with such intent that his own blood ran ice-cold in his veins.  
  
And there, above him, Regis could see himself sitting on that throne.  
  
_Don’t go._  
  
He had to go. His feet carried him upwards, up the steps he climbed every day and he knew, _he knew_ , this would be his final journey upwards. This would be the last time he would see this throne, this cursed seat that had been bestowed upon him and would be to his son, however long his reign may be.  
  
The figure in the seat was still alive, he realized, as he stepped closer. Slouched over and weak, fingers twitching, barely holding himself up, struggling to breathe. He was so very weak now, so close to death, waiting for one more blow, one final blow that would end it all.  
  
And Regis knew, as soon as he stepped close enough. It wasn’t himself he was seeing.  
  
It was his boy.  
  
It was Noctis.  
  
Noctis, breathing in as if it physically pained him to do so. Noctis, so pale and weak, practically at death’s doorstep now. Noctis, alone and _dying_ , sitting on a throne of blood and wearing the Ring of the Lucii.  
  
Noctis, the last King of Lucis.  
  
_His boy._  
  
_Don’t go._ And it was his boy’s voice in his head, soft and light, the way it had been when he was a small child, not this grown man before him. _Please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.  
  
_ But he had to leave. For Noctis to be King, Regis had to die. It was the way it had to be, the way it had always been. And for the light to return to the world, to finally vanquish the daemons that had swallowed the land, Noctis would have to die. That was the way it had to be.  
  
It didn’t matter if it was the very last thing he wanted. It didn’t matter if he wanted to steal his little boy away in the middle of the night, if he wanted to bundle him up into the Regalia and drive them far away from this wretched place. If he could, he would drive to the ends of the world to try and help Noctis escape his destiny. He would fight hordes of daemons, he would go up against entire armies. He would let their kingdom burn, he would bring down the gods themselves, just as long as his boy kept smiling as if nothing was wrong and kept _living_ , _by the gods_ , he just wanted his boy to keep on living.  
  
But he couldn’t. He might have been a king, he might have had the power of the Crystal running through his veins, but he was still just a man. An old, dying man, who couldn’t do anything to fight fate.  
  
_And this was the way it had to be._  
  
Before him, Noctis struggled to breathe in.  
  
In Regis’s hand, in his grip, was his sword, singing and ready to be used,  _begging_ him to be used, and Regis hated it. He wanted to throw it down, let it crash down those damned steps, and take his boy in his arms, wrap him up in his embrace like he had when he was a child. He wanted to brush his hair back and kiss his head like so many times in the past. He wanted to take Noctis’s pain away.  
  
But he couldn’t. His hand wouldn’t obey him. And fate wouldn’t obey him.  
  
_Please_ , and it was his own voice now, begging with the gods, with Noctis, with himself. _Please don’t make me do this. Don’t go._  
  
How very cruel this world was, how cruel fate was, to make him do this. Because he understood now. He understood why those figures below were waiting, he understood why _Noctis_ was waiting. Just how cold were the gods to weave them such a fate? He had loved his boy for all of these years, he had helped him grow and learn, he had watched him through the joy and the hardships, he had seen the signs of the man he would become. And now it was _he_ who had to do this? He was the one who had to take it all away, who had to rip Noctis’s light from this world?  
  
He had been there when Noctis had taken his first breath in this world. He had never dreamed that he would be there to see his last.  
  
Noctis took in a sharp, rattling gasp and started to raise his head, started to look at the man who would kill him, and if there was one final thing Regis could spare him, then this would be it. He wouldn’t let him see the face of his killer, whether he was aware of who it was or not. He couldn’t.  
  
Regis could feel his eyes watering and overflowing, his breaths heavy and uneven, his chest aching. He thought of his boy, his sweet little boy, with that smile and those eyes and that laughter. _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have saved you._  
  
He tried to fight against it, but his body moved against his will. He felt his fingers clench around the hilt, felt his arm move back in preparation, and then the sword suddenly rammed forwards. The blade pierced through flesh and bone and struck the throne behind, lodging itself there. Noctis’s entire body jerked with it, head snapping back, and his lifeless gaze met Regis’s.  
  
And light exploded around them.  
  
And if, later, when he was awake, if he hugged his boy tighter to him than usual, if his hands shook and tears burned his eyes like fire and threatened to fall...well, only he would ever know the reason why.  


 

**Author's Note:**

> ivorydice.tumblr.com


End file.
